


Lust and Life and Love

by faeriefirefly



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Enabled by a Waffle, Fluff, Incubus Katsuki Yuuri, M/M, Smut, Sochi GPF Banquet, a tiny pinch of angst, no beta we die like men, the complete opposite of a slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:27:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23646913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeriefirefly/pseuds/faeriefirefly
Summary: A gorgeous, dark-haired man has been haunting Viktor’s dreams for years, but he’s never made the connection between the shy Japanese skater and the dreams…until he sees Yuuri move like sin at the Sochi banquet and feels his familiar touch.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 29
Kudos: 159





	Lust and Life and Love

Viktor drove his cock into the willing warmth of his lover’s mouth again and again, the flared head hitting the back of his throat on each stroke. Gorgeous brown eyes looked up at him adoringly, framed by lush lashes and perfectly arched brows. He’d never seen anything like the love reflected in those mahogany depths in the waking world. His lover’s hair was a tousled mess of black fluff, out of which sprouted two gleaming black horns, which Viktor grasped for more leverage. His lover moaned obscenely around his hard length as he took hold, tonguing the underside of his cock as he thrust into the wet silk of his mouth, the flush on his cheeks deepening and his eyes glazing over with lust. He loved it when Viktor played with his horns—they were especially sensitive where the hard bone sank into skin. Viktor caressed that exact spot, circling the base of each horn with his thumb and forefinger, just like he would encircle his lover’s cock, and twisting, stroking, drawing out another desperate moan to rumble pleasantly against his own sensitive skin.

“Close…I’m close,” he grunted, loving the way his lover’s eyes widened eagerly and his throat opened to take him in to the hilt, until his balls brushed a spit-slick chin. Viktor let out a moan of his own, thrusting one last time into that tight, wet mouth, spilling himself deep as his lover happily hummed around him. His lover pulled off until just the head remained inside, using his hands to coax the last of Viktor’s come onto his tongue. His lips stayed pursed around the crown, not wanting to waste a drop. Viktor knew better than to try to pull out after countless variations of the dream, always finishing inside his lover’s hungry mouth or equally hungry ass, though the other man didn’t seem to mind when Viktor wanted to paint himself with his lover’s spend.

Satisfied, those luscious lips left his softening cock with an audible pop, bright red and shiny from staying stretched around his girth for so long. His lover smiled up at him as he swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, wiping the wet from his chin. Viktor couldn’t help but haul him up for a kiss. Slow, sweet, tender, their lips and tongues tangled together. Viktor’s hands moved from his lover’s horns to cup the back of his head and caress his cheek, pressing close to the other man and basking in the warm afterglow as slender hands petted his own hair and face. He felt his lover’s velvety tail slide along his hips as his hands dropped to hug his shoulders, curling around his waist in another embrace.

Viktor eased them both down to the bed, tucking his lover under his arm and settling him against his side. He played with soft black strands of hair as his lover nuzzled into his neck and sighed contentedly, the barbed end of his tail twitching lazily across Viktor’s skin. Viktor traced circles on his lower back with his other hand, running a finger along the seam of the leathery wings sprouting from his lover’s shoulder blades, dropping a kiss to his fluffy head. He ran his lips along the smooth surface of one black horn and drew a shudder from the smaller man.

Brown eyes lifted and a pout marred that lovely face. “Viktor,” the man whined.

“ _Chyortik_ ,” was his reply, before he dropped another kiss on those pouty lips. He didn’t know his lover’s name. He’d asked but was always met with an anxious frown and either quickly distracted or jolted awake. How funny that his mind could dream up the perfect man but couldn’t name him.

They cuddled a bit longer before the inevitable “I have to go,” came from his lover. Sometimes, they fell asleep together in the dream, Viktor slowly surfacing in the waking world. Occasionally, the intensity of his orgasm would wake him, or his alarm or something else would intrude enough to shake him awake. But often, his lover ended the dream, reluctantly breaking the bliss that surrounded them before Viktor was ready (he was never ready). Viktor’s arms tightened as he held him closer for a moment, his lover returning the hug fiercely before looking into his eyes and leaving him with another sweet kiss, rising from the bed and fading as he walked away.

Viktor jerked awake, desperately trying to hold onto the details of the dream. It quickly faded into a haze of pleasure, though he’d never forget the warm mahogany eyes of his lover or the peaceful contentment he always gained in his arms. No one compared to the man who haunted his dreams. He’d tried, really, he had, with both relationships and casual hookups, but no one else held a candle to the pleasure or love he felt from a figment of his imagination.

He sighed, grabbing his phone from the hotel nightstand to see how much time he had to get ready for the banquet. He would have gladly skipped to stay in dreamland a while longer. The banquets had long since become a tedious chore rather than a celebration, despite or perhaps because of his winning streak. Pasting his press smile on his face and making nice with his sponsors while his competitors whispered around him or looked at him in awe wasn’t his idea of a good time. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to stay too terribly long.

Viktor hopped out of bed and headed to the ensuite, carefully constructing the perfect façade of Viktor Nikiforov, newly crowned five-time Grand Prix gold medalist. Unless he was injured or one of his competitors made spectacular strides in the next few months, he’d surely be five-time World Champion in the spring as well. He took one last look in the mirror, critically examining his reflection and smiling at himself, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, before grabbing his phone and room keycard and walking out the door.

He met Yakov and Yura at the elevators, his coach begrudgingly pleased about him being on time. Yakov gave his usual lecture about behaving themselves at the banquet—they were representing Russia, after all. Yura rolled his eyes and bristled as usual, his teenage attitude making itself known, but didn’t talk back, while Viktor half-listened to the speech he’d heard many times before. Yakov broke off as they reached the banquet, presumably in search of Mila to give her the same lecture, and Yura trailed after Viktor like a lost kitten.

Viktor grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing tray, swatting Yura’s hand when he tried to do the same. He ignored the scowl the younger skater leveled at him. Though it wasn’t his job to keep Yura on a leash, he wouldn’t let him do anything untoward if he could help it. One of his sponsors approached and Viktor groaned inwardly, tossing back the champagne and squaring his shoulders as he smiled at the insufferable man. He made polite conversation, expertly extricating himself after a time, then made the rounds to talk to all the important sponsors and officials.

A flicker of movement caught his eye, fluffy black hair atop slumped shoulders next to a table against the wall. Someone was hitting the champagne hard. Something flitted through his mind as he watched the man turn, recognizing the Japanese competitor who’d left him hanging the day before, but he was distracted by yet another sponsor before he could grasp it. He’d lost Yura somewhere along the way and was thinking of going to find him in the momentary lull he found himself in, but Christophe Giacometti found Viktor first.

“ _Bonsoir, mon ami_.” The greeting was accompanied by a wink and another glass of champagne being pressed into his hand.

Viktor accepted the glass with a wry smile. “ _Bonsoir._ ”

Before Chris could say anything else, a commotion broke out in the middle of the room. Yura was squawking at…Katsuki, right? Yes, that was it, and the Japanese skater had moved on from mere flutes and had an entire bottle of champagne in his hand. Viktor raised an eyebrow but Chris just laughed.

“Shall we go see what the fuss is about?” asked the Swiss skater, gesturing widely.

They approached the pair, who had tossed their jackets away and started to dance. Mila was cheering them on from the sidelines, so whatever it was couldn’t have been too bad, and they _were_ just dancing. Katsuki seemed determined but there was something different about him. He was clearly in his element, calm and collected, while Yura’s usual rage fought with fierce determination and frustration on his face. Viktor’s eyes were drawn to Katsuki again, though he really should have been more worried about Yura, that niggling something in the back of his mind chased away by Chris’ wolf whistle as Katsuki pulled off a complicated series of handstands.

The crowd of spectators grew but the skaters in the middle paid them no mind. Katsuki’s laugh rang out as he smoothly morphed from one difficult dance move to the next, joy apparent in his every movement. The music seemed to follow him seamlessly. His face was flushed but he hadn’t even broken a sweat, whereas Yura was bright red, panting, and sweat soaked. Finally, the younger skater stepped aside, growling that the dance off wasn’t worth his time as he stomped away.

Chris sidled up to Katsuki before Viktor had realized he’d left his side, whispering something in his ear that was met with an enthusiastic nod. Katsuki retrieved his bottle of champagne from one of the ladies’ singles skaters, taking a deep swig. Viktor watched the long line of his throat as he threw his head back, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Katsuki glanced over at Viktor mid-swallow, looking at him from the corners of slitted eyes framed with lush lashes, and Viktor’s breath caught in his chest, heart pounding. He knew that look, on that face, and the muddled memories of his dream lover grew clearer with the realization.

The spell was broken by Chris coming back to the throng, portable pole in tow. Katsuki laughed and cheered, throwing his arm around Chris’ shoulders before helping him unpack. Viktor rolled his eyes—of course, Chris _would_ have a portable stripper pole on hand—and watched as he and Katsuki swiftly set it up on the dancefloor to appreciative applause and the occasional catcall. A thumping bassline came from the speakers, dirtier than the music Katsuki and Yura had danced to, and the pair at the pole started to strip.

Viktor’s eyes were glued to Katsuki’s lean frame as he shed his shoes, followed by his pants, all while moving sinuously to the beat of the music. He hopped on the pole like it was second nature, moving just as confidently as he did on the ground. Viktor was no expert, but he’d never seen anyone in a strip club move like Katsuki did. He’d seen Chris practice and some of his routines, and he was good, but Katsuki was on another level, otherworldly in his grace, fluidity in every purposeful movement. Chris seemed to have the same observation and didn’t even bother to face off against Katsuki, joining him on the pole to perform intricate pair moves.

Katsuki flowed around the pole like water, perfectly in time with the music. He enhanced both skaters’ moves, showing off his impressive strength by supporting Chris’ larger frame, losing his shirt somewhere along the way until he was only in his boxer briefs and socks, the champagne bottle back in his hand and spraying as he twirled. Viktor watched Katsuki’s back arch impossibly, his abdominals flex, his thick thighs tense and relax. And that face, lovely high cheekbones and a defined jaw, with hooded eyes slanting in his direction every so often, pinning Viktor under their gaze.

Viktor couldn’t look away, thoroughly mesmerized, and now that his attention was focused solely on Katsuki, each and every inch of him was achingly familiar. Every graceful movement of sleek muscle under creamy skin, every glance from those brandy brown eyes, smoldering and sparkling in turn, echoed the lover from his dreams. Each moment he watched brought his dreams closer to the surface and him closer to believing Katsuki and his _chyortik_ were one in the same, as impossible as it seemed. He had to have seen Katsuki somewhere, somehow, and based his dream lover on him…but he didn’t even know who Katsuki was before last season, and his dream lover had been visiting him for years. Maybe he was just projecting his desperate hope for something more onto the captivating man in front of him.

Eventually, the pole dancing came to an end, Viktor disappointed and relieved at the same time. Chris started gathering his clothes and Katsuki did the same, shrugging on his shirt and buttoning it haphazardly. He tugged his looped tie over his head but spotted Viktor before he finished putting it on, eyes sparkling once more as he abandoned the rest of his clothes, rushing straight toward Viktor. Katsuki wrapped his arms around Viktor, babbling in Japanese, then looked up at Viktor with warm mahogany eyes, all the love Viktor remembered given life, evident on his upturned face. Viktor knew that look, knew that touch; was his mind playing tricks on him? He froze for a moment as he tried to process, stiff as a board, arms trapped at his sides.

Katsuki’s face fell a little and his arms loosened their grip as he said, “Biktoruu?” in a small voice.

Viktor snapped out of it, shrugging Katsuki’s arms a bit higher as he wrapped his own around the other’s slender waist. He took a deep breath, searching the beautiful brown eyes looking up at him so adoringly, and whispered, “ _Chyortik_?”

The sweetest of smiles stole over Katsuki’s flushed face and he tightened his hold, hugging Viktor to him like he never wanted to let go. The smaller man cuddled in close, fitting his body to Viktor’s like a missing puzzle piece, nuzzling into his chest. It felt like home. It felt just like his dreams. It felt like everything Viktor had ever wanted wrapped in a wrinkled white dress shirt, the blue tie around Katsuki’s head the bow atop the perfect present.

“Yuuri!” Chris called from behind Viktor, and Katsuki raised his head and craned his neck to look over Viktor’s shoulder. Ah, right, his given name was Yuuri. Viktor silently mouthed the syllables, liking the way the longer u felt on his tongue. Chris’ voice came closer as he purred, “Congratulations, _mon chou_ , for winning both dance offs. Is our living legend the next to be conquered?” He rested his chin on Viktor’s shoulder, his hands on Viktor’s hips, and Viktor saw him wink at Katsuki—Yuuri—his _chyortik_?—suggestively from the corner of his eye.

Yuuri giggled and mumbled something unintelligible, lifting one arm from around Viktor to playfully push Chris away. He lost his balance as he did, the champagne seeming to finally catch up to him, and Viktor tightened his arms around his waist to steady him.

“Maybe not,” Chris laughed in reply, before holding up the rest of Yuuri’s clothes, scooped up from the floor. They moved unsteadily to an unobtrusive corner, where Chris helped Viktor pry Yuuri from his form, those big brown eyes looking up at him forlornly as they coaxed him into his trousers and shoes, buttoned his shirt, and made him shrug on his jacket. The moment he was clothed, he once again plastered himself to Viktor’s side, sighing happily. Chris laughed again and waved as he turned to head back to the banquet. “You might have been conquered after all, Vitya. _Bonne chance, mon ami!_ ”

Viktor leaned against the wall, looking out over the crowd as Yuuri clung to him contentedly, arms wrapped around Viktor’s waist, fluffy head tucked under Viktor’s chin. The banquet seemed to be winding down after the excitement, back to the same boring affair as usual. He’d spoken with all the pertinent people and thought he could get away with slipping out the door. He didn’t see Yuuri’s coach, Cialdini’s tall form and mane hard to miss, and surmised he must have left early. Viktor couldn’t help but be happy, eager to spend more time with Yuuri, to get to know him a bit better, to perhaps confirm his suspicions, as silly as they were. Though considering Yuuri’s drunkenness, all of that might have to wait a while anyway.

He pushed himself off the wall, rousing Yuuri enough to make their way out of the banquet hall and into the lobby. They settled on a plush couch and Viktor pulled out his phone to order a ride, pleasantly surprised by the fact that several were nearby, though on second thought, they were likely circling like vultures as the banquet came closer to its end. Just a few minutes later, he pulled a sleepily protesting Yuuri to his feet and ushered him into a sleek black car. Yuuri was a constant warm weight against his side as they traveled the streets of Sochi, then made their slightly stumbling way into the hotel and up to Viktor’s room. After fumbling with the keycard—they never would work on the first try—he led Yuuri inside.

Viktor sat Yuuri on the bed, kneeling to take off his shoes. Yuuri giggled again, the sound sweet and light but sending a shiver down Viktor’s spine nonetheless. He set Yuuri’s shoes aside and stood to take off his own, but Yuuri stopped him when he started to walk toward the closet. “I’m just taking off my jacket, Yuuri. Why don’t you give me yours too? I’ll hang them up and be right back.”

Wide brown eyes blinked up at him, a pout pursing those perfect lips. Viktor gently extricated himself from Yuuri’s grasp and brought his hands up to help Yuuri shrug out of his jacket, repeating, “I’ll be right back.”

He grabbed both pairs of shoes and took everything to the front closet, sparing a fond glance at Yuuri’s smaller, scuffed oxfords lined up next to his before he hung up both jackets and his waistcoat, smoothing them as best he could. A gasp escaped him, his lungs emptied of air, as he turned back to see Yuuri nearly naked again, most of his clothes puddled around him on the floor.

Another giggle left Yuuri’s lips, his eyes sparkling, the sleepiness that had overcome him just a few minutes earlier seemingly evaporated. “Biktoruu. _Onaka suita_.” Yuuri held out his hand, stretching out his arm.

Viktor took a few steps forward, but apparently, he wasn’t moving fast enough. Yuuri whined, leaning toward Viktor and almost losing his balance, and Viktor rushed over the last few steps before he could topple off the bed. Yuuri immediately wrapped his arms around Viktor’s waist again and rubbed his face side to side on Viktor’s shirt, dangerously close to his belt and what rested beneath. _Not now,_ Viktor groaned internally, willing his body to stay calm _._

Yuuri looked up, propping his chin on Viktor’s abdomen. “ _Onaka suita_.” At Viktor’s blank stare, he frowned, thinking hard for a moment, before grinning as he said, “Hungry.”

Viktor chuckled. “Okay, Yuuri, but you’ll have to let me go again so I can call room service.”

“Nn, hungry, Biktoruuuu,” Yuuri whined, shaking his head. His hands and face slipped down, palming Viktor’s ass as he nuzzled into Viktor’s swiftly growing erection. Viktor shuddered, closing his eyes as Yuuri mouthed at him through the barriers of cloth. And, _oh_ , that was nice, more than nice, but there was something, a reason they really shouldn’t—

“No.” The word came out harsher than he’d intended as he jerked back, feeling the smaller man nearly fall off the bed after all, another reminder that Yuuri was drunk and he couldn’t let this happen. He steeled himself against what he was certain would be Yuuri’s pouty expression as he opened his eyes, only to gasp once more. His _chyortik_ stared back at him, mahogany eyes filling with tears, horned head sinking into his hands, wings and tail drooping behind him. Yuuri curled into himself and let out a pitiful, heart wrenching sob.

Viktor fell to his knees. His jaw and throat worked but no words left him. He was shocked speechless. He had suspected, more had hoped wildly, but hadn’t really expected it to be true, for Yuuri to be his dream lover. He had no idea where to begin or what to do or if the man—man?—before him could even answer his myriad unformed questions until he sobered up, but he couldn’t let Yuuri continue to cry, heaving sobs wracking his slender frame so hard Viktor thought he might hurt himself. He pushed his own feelings aside and gathered Yuuri into his arms, pulling him off the bed and into his lap.

Yuuri shoved at him, weakly, but Viktor held on, tucking Yuuri’s wet face into the crook of his neck. He kept one hand cupping the back of Yuuri’s head while the other smoothed down his back as best he could while avoiding the leathery black wings. He rocked them gently, murmuring mindlessly, until Yuuri’s sobs had faded to sniffles and the occasional hiccup. The hand cradling Yuuri’s head moved, stroking a thumb over a tearstained cheek, trying to tilt his chin up, but Yuuri kept his face firmly buried in Viktor’s neck, his heavy breaths washing over damp skin.

Crisis weathered, Viktor’s back and legs were protesting their position after sitting on the floor for who knows how long. He moved to adjust but Yuuri whimpered, clinging to his shirt and pressing his face to his neck even more tightly. “Shh,” he whispered, rubbing small circles into the bare skin between Yuuri’s shoulder blades, just shy of his wings. “Let’s move back to the bed, okay?”

He felt Yuuri nod but he didn’t loosen his hold. Viktor resigned himself to getting them up without help and adjusted them again until he could kneel. His knees complained, but he somehow made it onto the bed with Yuuri still in his arms, then awkwardly scooted them both up to rest against the headboard. Viktor spent several slow minutes just stroking Yuuri’s arm and leg, smoothing down the soft skin then back up in long, languorous movements. Slowly, Yuuri relaxed, tension bleeding from his body until he melted against Viktor’s chest, and Viktor let out a soft sigh of relief. He couldn’t help dropping a kiss on that fluffy black hair, feeling a catch in Yuuri’s breath as he accidentally grazed a sleek horn.

Yuuri’s finally removed his face from the curve of Viktor’s neck, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes, his face streaked with tears. He was still the most beautiful creature Viktor had ever laid eyes on, even breathing through his mouth with snot dribbling from his stuffy pink nose. His hands still clutched the front of Viktor’s ruined shirt, not so desperate but holding on tight.

“There you are,” Viktor murmured, sliding his hand up to Yuuri’s face to wipe away the tear tracks. Yuuri closed his puffy eyes and leaned into the touch, then turned his head and caught Viktor’s thumb in his mouth, suckling softly as he peeked up from under sooty lashes. Viktor pulled back gently. “We can’t.” Yuuri’s face threatened to crumple again, and Viktor quickly brought his hand back to cup his cheek, adding, “Yuuri, _chyortik_ , you are very drunk, and I can’t, I won’t, take advantage.”

“Biktoru not take ‘vantage,” Yuuri slurred. He looked up at Viktor pleadingly, his hands now petting Viktor’s chest in a repetitive motion, almost like a kneading kitten. “Hungry.”

It was hard, looking into those puppy dog eyes, but Viktor held on, replying, “Hmm, if you’re still…hungry…in the morning, we can talk about it then, okay?” Yuuri frowned but nodded reluctantly after a moment of Viktor firmly holding his gaze, and Viktor smiled down at him. “Now, let’s get cleaned up before bed.”

Viktor drew Yuuri to the edge of the mattress, helping him stand, then leading him into the bathroom, grabbing a bottle of water along the way. He sat Yuuri up on the counter and turned on the tap, wetting a washcloth in cold water. Yuuri flinched at the cool cloth at first but let Viktor wipe his face. Traces of tears erased, Yuuri watched quietly as Viktor washed his own face, carefully sipping the water Viktor had given him.

Applying his anti-aging cream, Viktor slanted a glance at Yuuri. “We don’t all have flawless skin like you, Yuuri.” Yuuri giggled, leaning against the mirror and continuing to watch Viktor go through his skincare routine. As he finished, sleepiness loosened Yuuri’s grip on the empty bottle, and Viktor took it from him before he could drop it. “More water?”

Yuuri shook his head.

“Do you have to use the restroom?”

Another shake.

“We should brush our teeth and go to bed.”

A nod, sleepy-eyed and solemn.

Viktor didn’t have an extra toothbrush, so they improvised, both “brushing” with a fingerful of toothpaste and rinsing with mouthwash. Yuuri’s eyes widened momentarily and he licked his lips as Viktor took off his shirt, then his trousers and socks, leaving everything but his black bikini briefs on the floor to deal with in the morning, but his eyes soon drooped again, along with his wings and tail. Viktor steadied Yuuri as he swayed on his feet, leading him back to the bed and helping him under the covers. He grabbed another bottle of water and set it on the nightstand, then turned off the lights and slid into the other side of the bed.

Yuuri reached out, patting the sheets, worming his way over and settling against Viktor’s side with a sigh. Viktor laughed to himself and lifted his arm, letting Yuuri snuggle in close and pillow his head on his chest, right over his heart. Yuuri’s breaths soon slowed and evened out. Viktor’s mind brimmed with questions; tomorrow, he would get some answers. But for now, he finally had his lover in his arms where he belonged. His mind quieted, thoughts smothered by the peace and contentment and sheer sense of rightness he felt, and lulled by Yuuri’s warmth, he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.


End file.
